“He’s done what?” asked Perdita.
“It’s something we do when approaching people, Perdita — create a viable and searchable web history.”
Perdita and Piper exchanged bemused glances, then a frightening thought occurred to Perdita. “Perhaps the reason she hasn’t replied is because the Watchers have already found her,” she said. “After all, we managed to. MI1 might have traced her first.”
“It’s possible but unlikely,” replied Alistair. “Tracking people down isn’t in their remit. They watch but they only act when it’s necessary. I’ve also had word from the Home Secretary — he’s assured me that Inigo Westbury has taken his team off our case at the moment.”
“He’s still in charge?” exclaimed Perdita.
“Not for much longer,” Alistair reassured her. “The Home Secretary has informed me that the investigation into Inigo Westbury is concluding and once it is, he will be removed.”
“But he isn’t the only senior member of MI1 Elite,” said Perdita, inexplicitly nervous at Alistair’s trusting acceptance of the word of a government official. “What if someone else has been assigned and they’re fobbing you off with this supposed inside information on Westbury?”
Alistair shook his head. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there, Perdita,” he said, but his voice was calm and kind. “We have to choose whom we trust and, at present, I believe we can trust the word of the Home Secretary.”
“Despite the fact he lied to you about The White List…” Perdita began, feeling the familiar wave of panic rising.
“Yes, Perdita, I do,” said Alistair. He walked across the room and took her hand. “If I had a moment’s doubt, please believe me, I would tell you.”
His blue eyes, so similar to Kit’s, were guileless but as she opened her mouth to protest, she saw Piper give a tiny shake of her head and swallowed her words.
“Very well, Alistair, I’ll trust your judgement,” she said.
“But Dad…”
“Kit, no.” Alistair had released Perdita’s hand and for the first time, he sounded angry. “When you become involved with the world of espionage, it’s possible to drive yourself insane — you begin to see danger and spies everywhere. This is not the case. You have to keep perspective.”
The force of his words left a resonant silence in the room. Alistair forced a smile and walked back to the door.
“My apologies for interrupting — see you for drinks later,” he said and opened the office door.
“Let us know if you hear anything from Hannah White,” Perdita called and Alistair waved acknowledgement of her words as he disappeared down the corridor.
The minute Perdita was sure Alistair was out of earshot, she turned to Piper.
“What is it Pipes?” she asked her sister. “What do you know?”
“I know why Hannah White hasn’t replied to Alistair,” she said, “and it isn’t because the Watchers have got her. Hannah White is taking a sabbatical from her job.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been following her on social media.” She grinned. “Alistair isn’t the only one who can play the subterfuge game. I’m using a false name. I’ve managed to trace her through her IP address. She’s in Cornwall and from her social media profile, I know she’s on a Reiki course.”
“We should talk to her, Pipes, you and me,” Perdita said. “She’s a young woman, she’s more likely to respond to us than to a middle-aged antiques dealer — no offence to your Dad.”
“None taken but, Perds, you can’t!” Kit replied.
“Why not?” she snapped. “We can’t corroborate any of this — yet,” she waved her hand, encompassing their work and discussions in her gesture, “but we know these letters cast enough doubt to make it worthwhile pursing the leads we have for the second ring.”
“Yes, and what then? You let the Watchers murder you so the real truth is never revealed?” Kit sounded angry but when Perdita looked into his eyes, she realised it was not fury that had caused his outburst, it was fear. “Look what they did to your mother and your grandmother! Do you want that to be you or Piper?”
Perdita hesitated but then she forced herself to dismiss his words. Her own heart was beating with confusion and uncertainty and she could not deal with Kit’s issues, too; the stakes were too high. She had to follow her instincts and these told her to keep going, to continue travelling on the path her grandmother had laid out for her when she had left the estate to her and Piper, and if that meant hunting down Hannah White and the second ring by themselves, then that was what they would have to do.
“Kit, please, trust me on this,” she implored, trying to take his hand but he shook her off. “Six months ago we had no idea there was even a suggestion that there could be another version of history. Now we’ve discovered enough anomalies to make even the most well-known historical events look as though they contain about as much fact as a fairy tale. We can’t keep letting the Watchers bury the truth. We have to stand up to them.”
“And what about Randolph Connors?”
They stared at each other, the air crackling with tension.
“What are you suggesting, Perds?” asked Piper, stepping forward, breaking the atmosphere and bringing them both back to the present.
“The Lady Pamela letters are an important find, probably as vital as the Paston letters,” Perdita said. “It’s an accepted academic fact that the Tudors and Stuarts were terrible record keepers. They might have passed endless statutes and bills and filed away court documents but they were left in mouldering piles to be eaten by mice and other vermin. It was the Victorians who began filing and compiling. They did their best, but so much has been listed incorrectly that it’s not surprising that MI1 have been able to bury so much controversial information. In fact, considering what we’ve discovered, I’m amazed that a recent discovery about Mary, Queen of Scots was published a few years ago.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kit.
“Records have been found in the last ten years that exonerate her from any involvement in the murder of her second husband, Lord Darnley.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and the reason they had never been seen before was because they had been filed with other documents that had nothing to do with Mary or Darnley. It was a complete fluke that they were discovered at all.”
“And they were published?” confirmed Piper.
“Yes.”
“But that must mean MI1 has no idea about her true identity,” Piper continued.
“Exactly!” said Perdita.
“How do you reach that conclusion?” Kit asked.
“If a book was published, suggesting a different version of events — that Mary was innocent of any involvement in Darnley’s murder, which has always been implied by the Casket Letter trial — MI1 must have decided it was unimportant, otherwise I bet they would have pulled strings and the book would never have seen the light of day,” said Perdita. “It’s probably why the Armada letters haven’t been removed from the public domain either.”
“What Armada letters?” This time Piper was the one questioning her sister.
“A few years ago, there was a box of correspondence bought at auction containing letters written by Philip II of Spain during the Armada. They give a new perspective on his thoughts and actions and show that he was a terrible commander-in-chief. What I’m saying, Kit, is that these have been accepted and are available online. The Watchers have no idea that the anomaly they’re trying to hide is linked to Mary, Queen of Scots or the Spanish invasion which followed her supposed execution. If they did, these new pieces of information would have vanished without trace…”
“Perdita,” Kit interrupted, “do you really think the Watchers are going to allow you to release any of this and live?”
She turned away from him, her heart pounding. He was right, but she was frustrated with the endless caution, the waiting, the skulking in the shadows.
“Kit, if we can get the ring a
nd use the jewellery to prove these letters are genuine, we might have some leverage against the Watchers. Rather than killing us, this might be the one thing we can use to save us. We need to speak to Hannah and it would have more impact if it was face-to-face.”
Perdita and Piper stared at each other. Piper gave a short sharp nod.
“I’m in, we should go to Hannah White,” she said.
They turned to Kit.
He hesitated but before he could speak there was an urgent knock and Deborah hurried in, carrying a folder. Her eyes were wide and her hands were trembling.
“What is it?” asked Perdita, immediately on her feet. “What have you found?”
“A series of letters from around the time of Mary, Queen of Scots’ execution. Some are from Mignonne, the granddaughter of Bess of Hardwick, who was part of Mary Stuart’s household, but there are others too — a whole series,” Deborah said breathlessly, pale and scared. “We’ve only just finished translating them. Perdita, you must read them — if they’re correct then this secret is even bigger than we anticipated.”
Perdita opened the folder the woman had thrust into her hand. Removing the sheaf of papers, she spread them across the table, her eyes scanning them. Kit and Piper hurried over to stand beside her and together they read the letters. It took only a few moments for the impact of the words to make themselves felt. Piper recoiled first; her eyes wide with disbelief. Kit reached out and gripped Perdita’s arm.
“Has Alistair seen these?” Perdita asked.
Deborah shook her head. “No. He instructed me to allow you first look at everything as we translated it. He trusts your judgement implicitly.”
At any other time, Perdita would have been flattered by this comment but now the enormity of what they had uncovered fell fully on to her shoulders and she wondered if she would buckle under the weight.
“We need to show your dad,” she said to Kit. “I’m out of my depth here. He’s the only one who’s going to be able to help us.”
Gathering the letters together, she led the way out of the office and along the corridor to where Alistair was sitting behind his desk, waiting.
PART EIGHT: October, 1586
Chapter One
Elizabeth had never felt so alive. Draped in a drab cloak, her hair hidden under a simple scarf and with her face free from make-up, she was unrecognisable as she galloped through the cold night. The steady pounding of her horse’s hooves beat in time with her heart. The wind whistled past her, ruffling the hem of her dress, stinging her cheeks, as she remembered another summons, another chase across the midnight landscape, another loss. Once again, she feared she would be too late and this was what drove her — the cause that had been motivating her for so many months.
Before, there had been only a few of them: Lady Isabel Baynton, Isabel’s son Henry, Robert Dudley and two of Robert’s men. Her eyes. Her best friend. Once again he had offered to accompany her but he had another task to perform while she was away, one that would keep her safer than if he rode at her side. On this moonlit race, her trusted guard of honour surrounded her and her few chosen companions. Each dressed, as she was, in dull clothes, their heads cloaked and their faces disguised with scarves. Even the white flash on her horse’s forehead had been painted out so it would not shine in the dancing moonbeams.
They had left Boughton Hall as twilight fell, travelling stealthily through the night. Now they were within ten minute’s ride of Fotheringhay Castle. While the others had murmured in relief, Elizabeth could not deny the stab of disappointment at the thought that their night-time adventures would soon be at an end. She had enjoyed the anonymity and the excitement of their clandestine gallop across her realm, even if the destination would be traumatic. In a life where she was always on show, it had been a gift to blend, unnoticed, into the background for a while.
Her fear about their arrival and all it entailed was also beginning to rise. For a moment, she wondered what would happen if she kept going, riding away into the darkness, vanishing from sight. It was a daydream she had often indulged but, in her heart, she knew she would never abandon her realm. As she pounded across the dark landscape, Queen Elizabeth and her favourite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, were causing a scandal as he insisted on spending the evening alone with her in her private chambers. As this thought rolled around her mind, unable to stop herself, Elizabeth laughed out loud. The gossip caused by the nights Robert was seen slipping into her chambers would create such a diversion that no one would ever guess the truth.
Once again, Lettice and Robert were prepared to continue the charade that their marriage was nothing more than a convenient cover for Robert to facilitate his long-term affair with Elizabeth, while it had been put about the court that Lettice had been banished to Wanstead, although, the rumours stated, the contrary duchess had decided to travel to Kenilworth Castle instead. When word had arrived from Mignonne that Mary’s health was deteriorating further, Elizabeth had summoned Lettice to her chambers and explained her plan.
“Elizabeth, it isn’t safe for you to visit Boughton Hall — it’s not far from Fotheringhay and it certainly isn’t viable for you to visit the castle,” Lettice had spluttered.
“But I won’t be going to Boughton Hall or Fotheringhay Castle, my dear,” Elizabeth had replied, with a sly smile. “You will, as part of your journey to Kenilworth. Sadly, we will have rowed because I’m so jealous about your union with Robert, and in my temperamental female fury I will have banished you from court in disgrace. In the meantime, I, the queen, will remain here.”
Kate and Lettice had exchanged a bemused glance.
“But you said…”
“Lettice,” Elizabeth had snapped, her tone impatient as her cousin failed to grasp the subtleties of the plan, “you will be here disguised as me, while I travel to Northamptonshire as you. Who would dare challenge the snubbed and furious countess of Leicester en route to her favourite home, incandescent with rage over the stupidity of the queen’s ridiculous jealousy? I know I am ten years older than you but we are the same height and build — with one of my simpler wigs my hair could pass for yours and in your clothes, with your litter and livery: who would question me?”
“And what about me? Left here pretending to be you — isn’t that treason?”
“Of course not. I’ve given you permission. You will retire to your — my — bedchamber where you will complain of a headache and only come out when it’s essential. In the meantime, you will allow Robert Dudley to attend you, sparking a flurry of rumours to distract everyone from what is really happening. Hidden in plain sight, my darling Lettice. Philadelphia, Katherine and Bess will be here to help, while Kate, I must ask you to risk even more and accompany me to Fotheringhay. With luck we will be gone a week at most.”
“Elizabeth, this is reckless,” Katherine Newton had whispered.
“Yes, Katherine, I know, but I must visit my sister. The months of her incarceration have passed slowly, I must go to her.”
“Do you intend to rescue her?” There had been hope in Katherine’s voice.
“No,” Elizabeth had replied, in a voice laced with pain, “to say goodbye. She is too weak to be moved.”
“You ask too much,” Lettice had managed finally, her voice choked with sobs.
“I do,” Elizabeth had agreed, taking her cousin in her arms and hugging her tightly, “but this is not the first time we have used this ploy. You have shown your courage in the past — please, Lettice, do not fail me now. You have played this role with such conviction, pretending to be me so I could move around my kingdom, unseen, and visit my sister. It was part of your promise to help us protect our dear Artemis.”
“But, Elizabeth, you are going to the most dangerous place in the country,” Lettice had said, her voice calm as though trying to make Elizabeth see reason. “What if something should happen to you?”
“You will continue as queen.”
“No!”
Lettice had turned away, hot tears spillin
g down her cheeks.
“You always knew this was a possibility,” Elizabeth had reminded her. “You accepted this role many years ago, my little She-Wolf. Don’t fail me now, my dearest Lettice. I will return, I promise…”
“Not far now,” said Kate in a low voice, breaking into Elizabeth’s thoughts and bringing her back to the present.
Their horses were so close that they were almost touching but before she could reply, Elizabeth felt a hand on her reins and she was brought to a slow trot.
“What’s the matter?” she hissed to the captain of her yeomen guards, who was now close on her other side, fear prickling down her spine.
“There is a horseman in those trees,” he hissed. “It may be a bandit. Pause awhile, my lady — let my men ride ahead and deal with the ruffian.”
Elizabeth and Kate did as they were asked and followed the captain into a shadowed copse, while two of the soldiers cantered towards the looming figure. As they neared him, the man turned his horse and flew down the slope, disappearing into the darkness. Elizabeth felt for Kate’s hand, her joy at the midnight ride replaced by pure terror as the vulnerability of their situation struck her.
“Captain, what do you advise?” she asked.
“My objective, as always, is to keep you safe, Your Majesty,” he replied. “If need be, you will join me on my horse and we will return to Boughton House, while my men deal with any rogues and thieves. Sergeant Abel will take care of your cousin but with luck, this threat will be nothing more than a startled poacher.”
A twig cracked, echoing through the still night air and Elizabeth looked up. In the moments they had held their whispered conversation, twenty horsemen had picked their way through the trees and surrounded them.
“Captain Hynde, you have full command,” she murmured, flinching as she heard Hynde unsheathe his sword.
“Force will not be necessary, Captain,” said a calm voice and Elizabeth turned in surprise. “My apologies for causing alarm but we travel without livery in order to keep Her Majesty safe.”
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 28